


Daily Grind

by Sorrel



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Happy, M/M, Short Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-27
Updated: 2009-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorrel/pseuds/Sorrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes, Rodney was so tired that it was all he could do to make it through the day."  Thankfully, Sheppard was there to help out with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daily Grind

Sometimes, Rodney was so tired that it was all he could do to make it through the day.

He didn't sleep much anymore, that was the problem. Zalenka had given up trying to kick him out of the lab at midnight, because it never worked. He'd stay up till the wee hours of the morning before staggering back to his room and collapsing for a few hours, and then he was up with the Atlantean dawn to do it all over again.

It wasn't like he didn't want to get more sleep, because he did. Some days, usually around ten in the morning, he would just close his eyes, feeling this odd pressure against the inside of his skull dissipate for a few moments, and he'd wonder briefly if anyone would care if he just took a nap right there. But Zalenka would always approach with a question, or Kavanaugh would say something cutting or Miko would get upset, and he'd have to wake back up and go back to his day.

His workload was just too much to keep up with if he kept to normal sleeping hours. There was too much to do, and he was always three steps behind as it was. Maybe if he was just in the lab, if he assigned someone else to join Sheppard's off-world team- but no. The off-world missions were pretty much the highlight of his week, and he wasn't giving them up for anything. Even if it meant that he had to sleep three hours a night instead of the recommended seven or eight.

He always got weekends off, thank Christ, and he always slept straight through, only getting up long enough for meals before getting horizontal again. Those forty-eight hours of rest were enough to keep him going for the rest of the week, if only by the skin of his teeth.

Of course, then there were the times when there was an emergency and he had to save the day. When the crunch times cut into his usual weekend, he could always hit Carson up for stimulants. The good Dr. Beckett may hate giving them to him, but he usually couldn't argue with the importance of Rodney staying awake when someone was going to die if he didn't figure out how to save them.

The rest of the time, there was coffee.

Blessed, blissful coffee, which was always terrible, but he didn't care. It was liquid caffeine. His drug of choice. Without coffee, he would have fallen asleep at his keyboard a hundred times over, and probably exactly at the wrong time so the world as they knew it would end.

Even with coffee, Rodney had to face facts. He was fucking exhausted.

Not that it made any difference. There was no way for him to cut down on his lab hours without disaster striking, and the only other two places to carve out time was to either remove himself from off-world missions or to cut down on his sleeping hours. For Rodney, it was an easy choice.

It was probably around two in the morning, Earth time, when Sheppard showed up at his lab. Rodney was running simulations, over and over again, and he was making little enough headway that he was actually considering heading back to his room and maybe getting four hours of sleep instead of three.

"Hey," Sheppard said softly, poking his head in the door. "Why are you still up?"

"I could ask you the same question, Colonel," Rodney said, rubbing his eyes. "I'm running sims. What's your excuse?"

"Couldn't sleep," Sheppard said, coming the rest of the way in and parking his skinny ass on the tabletop next to Rodney's elbow. "Do you do this every night?"

"Gotta stay one step ahead of the competition, right?" Rodney said. It took more effort than he would have liked to keep from leaning his head against Sheppard's upper arm, just six inches away from his face. God, he was tired.

"Our competition is the Wraith."

"Exactly," Rodney said. "I doubt they'll stop at a little gloating when they're bigger and badder than we are."

"Doesn't mean it's all depending on you," Sheppard said. "You have an entire team that works here, if I remember correctly."

"They're all morons," Rodney said. "I'm the only one smart enough to keep this city going." He paused, considered. "Well, maybe Zalenka."

"I think even Kavanaugh could run sims," Sheppard said. "Go to bed and make him do it in the morning."

"No time," Rodney said. His laptop chimed at him, signaling the end of the simulation. He peered at the results, cursed, made a minute adjustment and restarted it. "If I can't nail this down, the power systems are going to start fluctuating in another two weeks, and that will lead to a complete shutdown."

"McKay, you've got two weeks. Don't you think that you can at least get a couple extra hours of sleep?"

"Not if I want to be able to keep up with tomorrow's workload, no," Rodney said. He leaned his head against his upraised fist, fighting to keep his eyes open. It seemed that even Sheppard couldn't keep him awake tonight. "And we have an off-world the day after tomorrow, so I have to prep for that."

"You don't have to go, you know," Sheppard said, and Rodney's eyes snapped open. He hadn't realized he'd closed them.

"I'm going," he said, in what he hoped was a firm voice. "You are not leaving me behind."

Sheppard's eyebrow went up (the man had the most expressive eyebrows of anyone that Rodney had ever seen) and Rodney couldn't help but wince. Fuck. He must be slipping. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. At least, not quite like that.

"It wouldn't be leaving you behind, McKay, it would just be giving you a break," Sheppard said slowly. "Come on, where's the harm?"

"Forget it," Rodney said harshly, turning away from Sheppard's too-knowing stare. "I'm going."

"Not if you can't grab a few extra hours of sleep," Sheppard said. His voice sounded steely. The rest of him looked pretty determined, too.

"I'm fine," Rodney said. "I've made it this far, haven't I?"

"By sheer dumb luck," Sheppard said grimly. Rodney glared.

"We've made it this far because of my stunning genius, you ape. Where would you be if I wasn't around to save your bacon in the field?"

"And where will we be if you fall asleep while we're off-world?" Sheppard countered. "Seriously, Rodney. You're the best we've got, and I'd hate to lose you, but I'm not going to risk your ass if you're not awake enough to watch it."

Great. Rodney sighed, pressed his forehead into his fist. "Fine. I'll go to bed in a couple minutes. Happy?"

"Not yet," Sheppard said. "I'm going with you."

"Excuse me?" Rodney gaped at him, trying to ignore the sudden pounding of his heart. "Did you just say you were going to bed with me?"

"I meant, I'm walking you there," Sheppard said, sounding way too amused for Rodney's liking. "It's the only way I'll believe you actually go to bed, instead of staying here and working all night."

"You're not my mother," Rodney grumped, but he was already shutting down the laptop and grabbing his jacket. He recognized Sheppard's own particular brand of stubbornness, hidden by a charming smile but unbendable nonetheless. Despite what people believed, Rodney did know how to pick and choose his battles.

"No, but I am your team leader," Sheppard said, on his way out the door. "And, asshole that you are, I'm also your friend."

Rodney didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing, just followed Sheppard in silence out the door.

It took a couple minutes to get to his room, and when he did Rodney unlocked the door and stepped inside. "There, I'm home now," he said, putting as much sarcasm into his voice as he could muster. "Will you leave me alone?"

"If that's what you want," Sheppard said, and his face was so damn unreadable that Rodney wanted to smash his fist into the wall. He fucking hated when Sheppard got like this, and he was pretty sure that half the time, Sheppard was doing it on purpose just to piss him off.

"Can we not do this now?" Rodney said.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sheppard said.

"Your innocent face could use some work," Rodney snapped. "You know exactly what I'm talking about it. And I'm not up to playing the game tonight, alright? It's late, I'm tired, we're in the middle of the hallway. Let's leave it for tomorrow, okay?"

Sheppard blinked at him. "Now I really don't know what you're talking about," he said, his face perplexed. "What game?"

Rodney, through an act of supreme willpower, did not bash his head against the wall. Though the tension headache he already had went a long way towards deterring him, too. "You flirt, but you have no intention of follow-through and you know what? I'm not really up to the teasing thing tonight. So please go away. Feel free to do whatever you want tomorrow when I have more energy."

"McKay," Sheppard said. "It's not like that."

"Of course it's not."

"You can't seriously believe I would do that."

"The evidence is right before my eyes, Colonel. It's not your best habit. I like the one where you save all our lives a lot better."

"_Rodney,_" Sheppard said, and grabbed him by the arm. Rodney glared at it pointedly till Sheppard let go. "Rodney. Would you just listen to me a moment?"

"I'm all ears, Colonel." He wasn't. He wanted Sheppard to leave him alone so he could go to sleep. At the very least, he wanted not to be doing this in the middle of the hallway.

Sheppard stepped very deliberately into his personal space, and for the millionth time Rodney bitterly rued the fact that Sheppard was actually a couple inches taller than him. Even if one of those inches was all hair. Hadn't the man ever heard of a comb?

"First of all," Sheppard said, planting a hand on either side of Rodney's head and leaning in, "My name is John."

And then he kissed him.

It wasn't a perfect kiss. It wasn't particularly sexual, or even lingering and romantic. It was just a close-mouthed peck, a soft brush of lips against his own, and then John was leaning back and looking at him with an intent expression that told Rodney that the kiss was more to make a point that anything.

"I'm not playing a game," he said softly. He tilted his head down, pressed his forehead to Rodney's in the Athosian gesture of affection and respect, and then backed away.

Rodney was still leaning against his door helplessly, his bones practically melted by one not-kiss and a simple touch. He comforted himself that John didn't look too steady on his feet, either.

"Get some sleep," John said softly, since Rodney was still speechless. "Tomorrow? Well, tomorrow we'll see about the follow-through."

He walked away quickly, and Rodney, deciding to put off thinking until later, went into his room and went to bed.

The next morning, when he woke up and found a steaming cup of coffee waiting for him on his bedside table, he thought that it might be love, after all.


End file.
